


Promises aren't Meant to be Broken

by paradis



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU, Hale Family is alive and well, Laura Hale & Stiles Stilinski - friends, M/M, the Hales are twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-08
Updated: 2012-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-18 06:02:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/557703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paradis/pseuds/paradis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Thanks for saving me,” Stiles blurts out, staring up at Laura, wide eyed. </p><p>Laura grins. “I like you,” she says, “we’ll be friends.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promises aren't Meant to be Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for some Kate/Derek discussion, and a lot of fluffy friendship love between Stiles and Laura.
> 
> Note: there have been some comments (very informative, sweet ones) that pointed out in the first few paragraphs that I mentioned Laura using proper grammar, though she wasn't. 
> 
> It's intentional. Stiles is eight years old and doesn't actually know completely proper grammar; he just knows that teachers and parents have been hounding him to use 'dad and I' at certain times, rather than 'dad and me.' If it throws you off, I'm sorry. If it's really THAT bothersome, I can and will change it if someone asks me to. :-)

Laura Hale is bright and quirky and funny and the second she intervenes when Jackson Whittemore is about to pummel Stiles’ little eight year old body into the playground, Stiles loves her. She’s ten years old and two grades above him, and can usually be seen with her twin brother, Derek, but this time she’s alone. She’s wearing a pink shirt and a purple skirt and her hair is in braids. She steps between Jackson and says, “That isn’t very nice, is it?” with a smile that Stiles is somewhat frightened of – and later calls it her Scary Smile. 

Because Jackson is never challenged, he’s shocked when he asks her this, and stares at her open mouthed. Because Danny, even at eight years old, is reasonable and also the only one who calms Jackson down, he agrees. He says, “C’mon Jackson, leave him alone. Stiles didn’t do anything to you.” Jackson stands his ground for another five seconds, gaping at Laura, before he huffs and turns away. 

Laura turns around, staring at Stiles still on the ground, also open-mouthed in surprise. She gives him a smile and offers him her hand to help him up. “I’m Laura,” she says, still just as sweetly, but without the Scary Smile. 

“Uh,” Stiles says, straightening his clothes out. “Stiles.” 

Laura offers him an angelic smile, completely unlike the previous one, and reaches out, brushing dirt off Stiles’ shoulder. “I know who you are,” she says seriously, “you’re two grades below Derek and I.” 

_Holy crap,_ Stiles remembers thinking, _she’s only ten years old and she speaks proper English._ Stiles’ English teacher is always on him to use ‘Dad and I,’ instead of ‘Dad and me,’ and he gets frustrated with it. 

“Thanks for saving me,” Stiles blurts out, staring up at Laura, wide eyed. 

Laura grins. “I like you,” she says, “we’ll be friends.”

\--

Stiles spends the rest of his childhood at either his house with Laura and sometimes Derek, or at the Hale House, with the entire Hale family, who are all freakishly cheery and happy and _nice_. When Stiles is nine his mom gets diagnosed with cancer. She goes for chemo and she gets sick, and she loses her hair, and Stiles has a lump in his throat every single day because of it. When Stiles is ten, she’s hospitalized, waiting to _die,_ Stiles realizes.

Laura is with him every single day. She forces her mother to bake cookies for him, she sits in the waiting room with him while his Dad spends his time with Stiles’ dying mother. She makes up games. Looking for people with purple socks. Looking for a man with a gold tooth. Quirky little things that have Stiles eyeing everyone and keeping his mind off the fact that his mother is dying. 

Sometimes, Derek comes along. He sits on the other side of Stiles and doesn’t say a word. Stiles has known him for two years now and he never hears Derek say much, unless it’s to argue with Laura. Mrs. Hale says Laura has been talking for him since the day the twins were born. She says Derek just likes to be inside his own head. Stiles thinks that sounds unpleasant. Who wants to be stuck inside their heads _all day_ with no one to talk to?

But his quiet is nice, and Laura is quiet too. It’s a peaceful quiet, all of them searching for purple socks and gold teeth and see through shirts. 

When Stiles’ mom dies, he’s never been more grateful for Laura as a best friend, or the Hales, who welcome him and his parents into their family with open arms. They stand behind him, solid rocks of support. Laura looks strange in a black dress, with no color in sight. She looks solemn, quiet. She looks like she might actually be Derek’s twin. 

When Stiles starts sobbing as the lower his mother’s coffin in the ground, Laura reaches out, clutches his shoulder with a steady hand, and leans forward. “I know, Stiles, I know,” she whispers in in his ear, and Derek is suddenly on his other side, clutching his other shoulder, just as steady. He doesn’t say anything, but what matters is that he’s _there._

The Hale twins are _there_ for Stiles, and they’re always going to be.

==

“God, Stiles, lighten up about it,” Laura flops on his bed. Stiles swivels his chair around and faces her, glaring. 

“It’s my _chem_ final,” he says. “How am I supposed to _lighten up_ about it. Oh wait. You wouldn’t know. Because you’re graduating this year.” Stiles blows out a sigh. Laura offers him a smile and jumps off the bed, coming over and hugging him. 

“It’ll be okay, Stiles,” she says into his hair. Laura convinced him to keep it longer, pushed up in the front, at the beginning of the year, saying he looked older and more mature that way. “We’ll still be here.”

“You won’t be in school though,” Stiles says. He refuses to say that it sounds like a whine, because it _doesn’t,_ dammit. 

Laura clicks her tongue in disapproval. “Can’t be in school forever, Stiles. Besides, we’re going to the community college. We’re staying in Beacon Hills, silly.” Stiles frowns. 

“Yeah. Why?” Laura rolls her eyes.

“So I can take care of you. You always manage to find trouble, Stiles.”

“Not true!” Stiles protests. “Trouble finds _me_.” Like the time he was in the woods and tripped and fell and before he knew it, he could’ve _sworn_ a wolf was standing over him. And Laura just appeared out of nowhere. Or the time he swore his chemistry teacher was a serial killer and instead found out he was an alcoholic and a pervert, and saw things he _never wanted to see._

Laura eyes him in disbelief. She says, “You’re not serious right now. Stiles, you _look_ for trouble.” 

Stiles rolls his eyes this time. “Maybe a little,” he admits. 

Laura pats his cheek one more time before crossing the room and falling back onto his bed again. Stiles turns back to his chemistry textbook and keeps highlighting things, taking rigorous notes and trying his hardest to remember the difference between covalent and ionic bonds. While he studied, Laura flipped through all the comic books Stiles had just gotten, and then pulled out a book. Finally, two hours later, she huffs out a sigh. 

“You’re being as boring as Derek,” she tells him. “Do something fun.” 

For as long as Stiles has known Laura, she’s matched him in everything. Wits, personality, intelligence, and hyperactivity. If Stiles was dancing around the room in an attempt to calm himself down, Laura was usually doing cartwheels outside at the same time. She’s quieter, a little more thoughtful, but sometimes that’s more dangerous for them both. Sometimes Laura gets them into things Stiles isn’t sure how they’ve made it out of. Things like, when Stiles was eleven, and Laura was thirteen, sneaking into Uncle Peter’s study and trying to read one of his _antique_ books. Peter found them and Stiles swore his eyes flashed an electric blue when he saw Laura and Stiles’ fingers on the precious pages, before he calmed down and grabbed them by the scruffs of their necks, dragging them out of the room. 

Or the time Laura swore it would be okay to go swimming in the lake behind their house in March, except it wasn’t, because it was freezing cold, and Stiles got a terrible case of blue lips and was sure he was dying of hypothermia by the time Jeffrey Hale, Laura’s father, pulled them out. 

The funny thing is, Derek is _never_ there when they get caught. But he is there for all their little excursions to check out the latest crime scene Stiles hears about over his (forbidden) police radio, or whenever Laura manages to get her hands on alcohol. 

Derek’s way sneakier, Stiles pouts, before turning back to the situation at hand. “I am not getting into trouble a week before summer vacation.”

Laura sighs loudly. “No trouble, I promise, you big wimp. Let’s just go for a walk in the woods.”

Stiles stares at her with his best look of disbelief and says flatly, “A walk. In the woods. With me.”

Laura blinks, staring at him with wide innocent eyes. “What’s wrong with that?” she asks him. 

“Every time I’m in the woods something happens. Something like me tripping and falling. Or me getting lost. And then all the sudden before you know it I’m imagining some _wolf_ with crazy, bright blue eyes, leading me back. I have serious hallucinations in the woods, Laura, and it freaks me out.”

“Maybe it’s your guardian angel,” Laura shrugs. Stiles narrows his eyes and stares at her for a moment before shrugging. 

“Whatever, just don’t let me get lost,” he says, shutting his textbook and standing up. 

Laura walks over and throws a sweatshirt at him. “It’s chilly. I don’t want you getting sick.”

“Shut up, just because you never get sick,” Stiles mumbles, but he puts the sweatshirt on and follows her out the door.

The walk goes in typical fashion: Stiles loses Laura when he’s busy concentrating on his footsteps instead of following her, somehow ends up in the middle of the forest holding his phone above his head, searching for service so he can _call Laura_ and tell her he told her so, and tripping and falling, his face landing in the dirt. When he looks up, two electric blue eyes are staring back at him from a wolf’s face, and Stiles groans. “Fucking told you so Laura. Worst best friend ever.” There’s a growl and Stiles scrambles up, holding his hands up.

“Good puppy, good puppy,” he says quietly. There’s another, lower growl, and Stiles whimpers. “Good… wolfy? Good wolfy!” he shouts. He swears the wolf rolls his eyes. He steps forward and Stiles scrambles back again, but he’s too slow. Instead of biting Stiles’ thigh, or ripping his lungs from his chest though, he just pokes his nose at Stiles’ jeans and pushes him forward. 

“Right. Following you. Again,” Stiles sighs. “One of these days I’m going to end up dead and what will Laura do, hmm.” 

He swears the wolf snorts a laugh, too. 

When the wolf pushes Stiles out of the wood line and right in front of the Hale house, Stiles sighs. Laura is sitting on the front steps, waiting for him and staring at the trees like she’s lost in her own head. Laura does that sometimes, Stiles knows. They fit well together because they’re both kind of odd, and Stiles likes that. The best part, though, is that Laura is kickass. She can take down any boy twice her size with her words alone, but also physical force, if necessary (it wasn’t the last time she faced Jackson down, that day in the park, and to this day Jackson can’t look at Laura without shaking in fear). 

Laura has on her favorite pair of sunglasses (heart shaped this time, and bright yellow), and a purple sweatshirt, and she grins when Stiles trips out into the front yard. “There you are,” she says, like she wasn’t worried about Stiles at all. Stiles silently fumes as he brushes the leaves off his own hoodie. 

“Fuck you,” he says without any real heat behind it, and Laura smiles even wider. 

“Was your wolf there?” she asks innocently. Laura is also all about the spirits and myths and fairytales. Stiles thinks she’s a little obsessed, waiting for her Prince Charming to come, talking about someday when she’ll spend the rest of forever with someone special, but he’s content to let her search, and to be her Prince Charming for now. He was her date to her senior prom, one of the youngest there, but happy to accompany her. She was his first kiss because she told him she didn’t want him to wait forever for Lydia Martin to finally get her head out of her ass and notice him. 

Stiles was there for her first breakup, stuck by her through all her emotional breakdowns during the year she turned thirteen, and he watched all the episodes of Downton Abbey with her last year when she decided British TV was the best TV. In return, though, Laura has been through Stiles maybe-gay-probably-bisexual freakout, went through a four seasons straight marathon of Breaking Bad with him, even though she hated it, and watched two seasons of Justified in a row while Stiles complained about how unfair it was that Timothy Olyphant was so fucking hot with a southern accent. 

Now, Laura’s got this fantasy in her head that Stiles has a ‘wolf’ looking after him, and Stiles will stick through it just because he knows Laura wants him to be happy. 

“Yes,” he says through gritted teeth. “He growls a lot. He’s like the most miserable being ever.” 

Laura’s answering grin is all teeth. “I bet he is,” she says like she knows something Stiles doesn’t, and Stiles narrows his eyes. “Come inside,” Laura says, “Mom made cookies.” 

==

Summer passes just like it always does, in a whirlwind of swimming in the Hale’s lake, having cheesy sci-fi movie marathons with Laura, and Laura forcing Derek to interact with more than just the same four walls of his bedroom. 

His brooding (Stiles has called it brooding since the day he met Derek, because Derek likes to stare at people and give them the impression he hates them) has hit an all-time record of one month and fifteen days when Laura finally bangs on his door for an hour straight, hollering frightening threats at him while Stiles sits on the hallway floor and watches, scared _for_ Derek, until Derek opens the door. “Come on,” she says simply when he opens the door. “We’re going out.”

“Out,” Derek repeats, his gaze landing on Stiles, who gives him his most sympathetic look. 

“Milkshakes at the diner,” he explains. “But Laura’s buying!” he says brightly, getting to his feet. Laura sighs. 

“You always make the lady pay,” she says, bumping shoulders with him as she leads Derek down the stairs. 

Stiles says, “You’re rich. I’m a poor teenaged boy,” and Laura rolls her eyes. 

“And you,” she points to Derek, “need to stop with the moping and the brooding. Jesus, Derek. When was the last time you saw sunlight?” 

“I was reading,” Derek says, only mildly annoyed by Laura’s finger jabbing into his shoulder. 

Stiles bounds out the door, swinging it wide open so Laura and Derek can follow. When Derek steps out he says, “Ah, the light, it burns,” in his driest tone, and Stiles shrieks with laughter when Laura punches him so hard in the shoulder he yelps like a puppy. 

When summer is over, Stiles mourns the loss of his best friend being in the same high school as him while they move Laura and Derek’s things into an apartment across town. The apartment is small and cozy, clean and bright (Stiles is sure Laura picked it out), and Laura gets her own room that she forces Stiles to help shop for furniture for at the IKEA store the next town over. Then she forces him to help shop for Derek’s furniture, too. “How do I know what he wants?” Stiles grumbles as they try out the fifth mattress. “For all I know, Derek sleeps standing up.” 

“Derek is not a vampire,” Laura says, pinching his arm. “Next one. Try the next one.”

“Why am I trying these out anyways,” Stiles whines, “it’s not like _I’m_ going to sleep in them.” 

Laura gives him a shark-eating grin like she knows something he doesn’t, and bounces on the next mattress. “What about this one?” she asks, and Stiles agrees because this one is memory foam and if he was shopping for a mattress, it’s exactly what he’d want. 

Laura pulls out her parent’s AmEx card and doesn’t even blink when the cashier tells her the price of all her purchases. Stiles hates being poor when he’s standing next to Laura sometimes. 

They take what they were able to bring home today up the stairs to the apartment and find Derek standing in the middle of the kitchen, squinting confusedly at a box of Kraft mac n’ cheese. Laura takes one look at him and then turns to Stiles. “This is your job,” she says, and starts hauling IKEA bags and boxes into the living room with an alarming amount of strength. 

“Uh, hey, buddy,” Stiles scratches the back of his neck. “What are you doing?” 

“Reading,” Derek scowls. 

“You do know it’s just a matter of boiling water and mixing things together, right?” Stiles asks, walking further into the kitchen and pulling out a saucepan to fill with water. When he’s finished he sets it on the stove to boil and turns back around. 

“Well?” he demands. Derek arches a brow. 

“Milk, and butter,” Stiles points to the fridge. “Everything else is in the box.” Derek blinks at him for a moment before he walks over to the fridge and pulls the gallon of milk and the butter out, setting it on the counter. When Stiles turns around the water is boiling, so he takes the box of mac n’ cheese from Derek, pulls out the cheese, and dumps the noodles in. “Ten minutes,” he tells Derek while stirring. “Strain them. Then add the milk, butter, and cheese.” 

Derek is silent for a moment before he asks, “How much?” quietly. 

Stiles shrugs. “I actually never measure. My mom –” he breaks off and swallows dryly before speaking again, “my mom was a big believer in adding as much as it took to taste good. Sometimes it was less milk and more butter. Sometimes it was all butter and no milk. Sometimes it was all milk and no butter, and so on. It was just whatever tasted good that day. So that’s what I do. My dad says it tastes perfect every time,” Stiles laughs. 

Derek is gripping the countertop tightly and staring at Stiles, but the look in his eyes isn’t pity. It’s a fondness, for Stiles and for his mother. Stiles is sure he’s remembering the times he ate Emilia Stilinski’s mac n’ cheese as a child and how he always swore it tasted the best, because Stiles is remembering it, too. When the timer dings for the pasta, Derek pulls down the strainer and sets it in the sink, and Stiles dumps the boiling water down the drain and pours the noodles back into the pot. He’s about to pour the milk when Derek clears his throat. “Can I – um. Can I?” he asks, gesturing to the milk. 

“Sure,” Stiles says. “It’s yours anyways.” 

Derek adds some milk, and then stirs it into the cheese. He frowns down at it for a moment until Stiles nudges him. “You gotta taste it, Derek. To make sure it tastes right.” He offers a smile, and Derek picks up the spoon and takes a bite. He frowns at the spoon before he adds some butter and throws it in, tasting another bite. He nods to himself then, satisfied, and Stiles grins. 

“See?” he asks. “Tastes better, right?” 

Derek shrugs, and Stiles rolls his eyes, because he knows Derek would never be willing to admit when he’s enjoying something in life, but he can see the pleased look in Derek’s green eyes anyways. He’s about to head into the living room, where he can hear Laura cursing whatever piece of furniture she’s trying to put together, when Derek makes a noise.

“You should eat some,” he says. “Because… you helped. And stuff.” 

Stiles grins at him. “Sure,” he says, “I’ll eat some of your special mac n’ cheese.” He even laughs when Derek throws a spoon at him, ducking out of the way just in time. 

They sit at the kitchen table and eat Kraft mac n’ cheese, and neither of them says a word, but it’s a comfortable silence, something Stiles isn’t very used to, but is pleasantly surprised by how much he likes. 

==

“I’ll miss you,” Stiles whines into Laura’s shoulder as they sit on her couch. It’s an hour before Stiles’ Junior year starts, and Stiles stopped by to see Laura before her first class at BHCC. Laura huffs.

“Don’t go confessing your undying love for me Stiles, I’d hate to let you down,” she says, patting his head. Stiles rolls his eyes. 

“Okay, I won’t miss you _so_ much,” he says. Laura laughs. 

“You’ll miss me, and you know it. Just make some friends, okay? Talk to that Scott kid, the one from the lacrosse team you always sat on the benches with while Derek was out kicking some ass on the field.”

“No need to remind me I’m a lowly bench warmer while Derek was a superstar,” Stiles says flatly. Laura pinches him.

“You know what I mean. I like Scott’s aura.”

“Aura,” Stiles repeats. “What does his aura say?”

“Well. The school records say he’s pretty dumb. But you could help with that! And rumor has it he’s been crushing on some girl but isn’t sure how to ask her out. And you give the best advice! And also, Jackson treats him like shit, too, so once you take him under your wing, Jackson will leave him alone.” Laura is bouncing excitedly and flailing her hands as she talks, something she and Stiles both do when they get on a heated topic, and Stiles heaves a big sigh. 

“Yeah,” he says, “I’ll talk to Scott.” 

Laura beams at him and pushes him off the couch. “Get to school, you loser high school kid.” With a huge grin on his face, Stiles lets her push him out the door. 

==

Scott McCall is actually a really nice kid; he’s slightly below average on the intelligence level, but he’s sweet and puppy-like, and he always wants to do the right thing. His mother is a nurse at the local hospital who works long hours, and his father took off when Scott was in elementary school. He likes video games and cheesy horror movies and wants to be on first string for lacrosse even though he has terrible asthma. “You’re the Hale twins’ best friend, right?” he asks Stiles while they sit and watch the first string players run through exercises first. “Man, Derek Hale was _awesome_ on the team.” 

Stiles shrugs. “He’s pretty awesome at everything. When I was in junior high I challenged him to a race and thirty yards in I tripped and fell and he kept going,” Stiles says. “I’m used to it.” 

Scott blinks. “He just left you there?” he asks like he couldn’t imagine leaving someone lying on the ground. 

“He’s a little emotionally stunted,” Stiles allows, “but the big guy means well.” 

They keep talking after that and Stiles ends up playing HALO at Scott’s house the following Friday night. When they’re about an hour into a particularly vicious game, Laura texts him telling him to clear his schedule for tomorrow because they’re going to catch up on Downton Abbey.

“I wish she watched Sherlock like every other British TV fan,” he mumbles under his breath, right as Scott shoots to kill on the screen. 

Scott says, “What’s Sherlock?” and Stiles grins widely, proud to be able to introduce young Scott McCall into a whole new world. 

“Bet you’ve never heard of Doctor Who, either,” he says, and starts talking. 

==

Sunday is for sleeping, Stiles has always said, and he always orders his dad not to disturb him until one o’clock in the afternoon at the earliest on Sundays. Apparently this rule does not apply to Derek, though, who, at ten o’clock (in the morning! On a Sunday!) shows up and pounds on Stiles’ bedroom door. 

“No, no, no, no,” Stiles groans into his pillow, and that’s when Derek gives up pounding on the door and just barges into Stiles’ room. “Fucking door, no lock,” he whines, burrowing his face further into the pillow. There’s a good chance he’ll suffocate himself, but if it means sleeping in, Stiles will take it. 

“There is furniture,” Derek says through gritted teeth. “Furniture, and boxes, and _stuff_ everywhere, Stiles. Laura won’t stop shrieking.” 

Stiles sits up, and Derek’s eyes widen. Stiles knows he has crazy bedhead, it’s been an issue since he started keeping his hair longer, but there’s no reason for Derek to stare so rudely. “What?” he mumbles, “I know the hair is an issue. I probably look really scary.” 

Derek clears his throat. “Not scary,” he says, and just blinks. There’s an awkward moment of silence before Derek finally says, “Help.” 

Stiles groans and rolls his eyes. He untangles himself from his sheets and climbs out of the bed. “Fine. Give me ten minutes,” he says, pulling clothes out of his drawers. This time he doesn’t notice Derek staring. 

==

“Derek is seeing someone,” Laura says shortly. 

“Hmm?” Stiles asks, busy typing out his AP English paper. Stiles thinks it’s really unfair he has to look for even _more_ hidden messages in The Great Gatsby this year, when he’s pretty sure he figured out the meanings in his freshman year. He’s basically rewriting his freshman paper and trying to make it look more mature. 

“I said Derek is seeing someone,” Laura says loudly. Stiles pauses typing for a moment. 

“Ooookay,” he says slowly, turning halfway in the kitchen chair and looking at Laura with an arched brow. She’s pouting. Stiles knows this is never good. “What’s the problem?” 

“He won’t tell me _who_ he’s seeing,” she whines, finally crossing the kitchen floor and sitting down in the chair across from Stiles. “He tells me everything, Stiles, you know that. I know everyone thinks he doesn’t talk, but he _does._ To me. And he’s not talking and it’s freaking me out.” 

She looks like a worried little girl in her bright, flowery dress, and her yellow headband as she stares at Stiles, and Stiles feels bad. So he asks, “Do you… want me to… like. Talk to him?” 

Laura’s eyes widen. “Would you? Please? That would be great. Don’t let him intimidate you, okay?” she says, and pats his cheek. “Thank you.” She disappears from the kitchen, into the living room to work on her own paper, and Stiles blows out a sigh.

“Don’t let him intimidate you,” he mutters under his breath, “that should be _so_ easy.” 

Stiles corners Derek three days later when he uses the key Laura made him and slips into their apartment, hoping to be off the radar from Scott and his dad for a little while, so he can study for his math test in peace and quiet. Stiles loves them both, but sometimes he just needs silences. His dad is constantly trying to make up for always being busy at work, by making small talk as he putters around the house, and Scott is constantly texting him asking him what he should do about his crush on Allison Argent. 

But instead of finding the apartment empty, like Laura said it should be while she was at class, Derek is in there, making another box of mac n’ cheese. “Hey,” Stiles says. “Sorry – Laura said the place was empty. I was hoping for some peace and quiet while I studied. I’ll go,” he turns back around. 

Derek says, “You don’t have to leave. You can still study here.” Stiles turns towards Derek again, and he’s pointing at the kitchen table. 

“Thanks,” Stiles says, and walks into the kitchen, setting his bag down and pulling out his textbook and notebook. 

There’s a long stretch of silence, and Stiles taps his pencil against his book for a moment before he says, “So…. Seeing anyone?” Derek freezes.

“Why?” he asks, and it sounds hesitant. 

“No reason,” Stiles tries to sound innocent. “I just… was wondering. I mean. You never really dated much in high school, but college could be different, right? Totally different. I mean. Lots of… girls?” he says, disappointed at how it sounds like a question. 

Derek clears his throat. “I’ve been dating,” he says slowly. 

“That’s great!” Stiles says, but something in his head rings out, _no, no it’s not. It’s very bad._ He isn’t sure why and he doesn’t like the sickly green hue of jealousy those words take on inside of him as he continues, “Who is the lucky girl then? Anyone w – I know?” Derek is stirring milk into the mac n’ cheese slowly, like he’s contemplating how to answer. 

“No,” he finally says, “she’s… older.” 

“Oh,” Stiles says quietly. “Oh.” 

“Laura wouldn’t like her,” Derek suddenly turns around, eyes flashing as he stares Stiles down. “So she shouldn’t – I don’t want to tell her about her. Because she’ll tell my parents. And they’ll all… worry.” 

“Worry about what?” Stiles asks, alarmed. He knows Isabelle and Jeffrey Hale, and he knows that as long as their kids are happy and safe (Stiles included), they’re happy, too. 

“Just – it’s nothing,” Derek shrugs. “But don’t tell her.” 

He sets two bowls of mac n’ cheese down on the table and ignores Stiles pleased look as Stiles says, “Sure. I’ll keep it a secret.” 

==

Keeping it a secret is the worst thing he’s ever done, Stiles decides, as Scott shares the latest news with him. Scott has been dating Allison for two weeks when he goes to her house for dinner and comes home decidedly horrified. “Her dad deals with assault rifles on a _daily basis_ ,” he whispers, like Mr. Argent might be nearby listening. “Her mom is terrifying. And her aunt Kate,” he shudders. 

Stiles arches a brow. “What’s wrong with her aunt Kate?” 

Scott shrugs. “Allison says they used to be more like sisters than Kate and her Dad, but then something happened, and Kate hardly ever comes around anymore. She said she’s not sure what the whole story is, but Kate is pretty crazy, if her dad is anything to go by. Allison said she had a ‘mental break’,” Scott wrinkles his nose. “Anyway, now she’s back and she’s dating some guy way younger than her, and Mr. Argent is really mad about it.” 

“Well it’s pretty weird to think about dating someone a lot younger, and accept it – oh, my God,” Stiles says, realization dawning on him. “Oh, shit.” He scrambles to get his cell phone out of his pocket and is about to dial Laura’s number, when it starts ringing. Laura’s name flashes across the screen, and Stiles’ heart is pounding as he answers the phone. 

“Laura there’s something I have to –” 

“The house is burning down!” Laura interrupts him, shrieking, “Stiles, our house is burning down right now!” Stiles jumps off Scott’s bed, scrambling for his car keys while Scott looks alarmed. “I don’t know – my parents – I don’t…” Laura trails off, sobbing, and Stiles finds his car keys at the same moment.

“I’m on my way,” he tells her, and hangs up the phone.

It’s salvageable, is the first thing Stiles thinks when he reaches the Hale house. Isabelle, Jeffrey, Laura, and Derek, are all standing there watching the last of the smoke curl up towards the night sky while Stiles walks up to them. Laura sees him first, and throws her arms around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. “Someone just burned it down,” she says, sniffling. 

Stiles looks at the half-burnt house, and then looks back down at Laura, still shaking in his arms. Then he looks at Derek, who has his arms crossed and is glaring at the burnt house like it personally attacked him. He catches Stiles’ eye, looks guiltily away, and that’s when Stiles knows.

He knows _exactly_ who set the house on fire. 

“Everyone’s safe,” he says hoarsely, still looking straight at Derek. Derek flinches, “Everyone’s safe, and that’s all that matters,” he says more confidently. 

==

Derek goes to New York a month later. 

Laura doesn’t talk about it, her eyes harden whenever Stiles asks, and Stiles tells himself that she’s just having twin separation anxiety. He knows the truth, though. She doesn’t understand, and she’s angry Derek didn’t explain. He knows the truth of why Derek ran away, why he never explained, and he’ll take this secret to the grave if it’s the last thing he does.

It still doesn’t explain why he so desperately misses Derek. He’s been best friends with the Hale Twins for the better part of his life now, but he’s always been closer to Laura. At the same time, though, Stiles feels an unexplainable pull towards Derek when he’s gone. It’s almost like a longing, and Stiles hates it. 

Everything stays the same even with the Derek shaped hole in his life. 

Friday dinners at the (quickly rebuilt) Hale house, just like always, and Sunday breakfasts with his dad to catch up. Friday nights spent at Scott’s house playing video games until curfew, and all day Saturday spent at Laura’s apartment, usually falling asleep on her couch. She always kicks him out just in time to get to the diner for breakfast, and sometimes she tags along. But she looks more stressed without Derek there, and Stiles wishes there was something he could do. He wishes that he could tell Laura he’s sorry for keeping this secret from her, that Derek is surely sorry, too, but he can’t. He can’t break his promise to Derek. 

He hasn’t heard from Derek once since he left. Laura says sometimes he calls when he knows she’ll have her phone off, and leaves a voicemail; does the same to his parents, but that’s all she’s heard from him. 

They’re at Friday dinner one night, Laura, Isabelle, Jeffrey, Stiles’ dad, and Stiles, and the empty chair in the room is clearly noticeable. Derek never talked much, but Stiles’ dad usually manages to get him talking about the latest sports scores for a little while, and sometimes Stiles can get him to joke with him a little. But instead of Derek, there’s an empty chair, and because of that, there’s complete silence around the dinner table. Laura is stabbing at her peas moodily. In all the years Stiles has known her, Laura has never been this miserable. 

“So, everything looks great,” he smiles at Isabelle.

Isabelle offers him a weak smile back. “Thank you, Stiles. I’ve wanted a new kitchen, so this was the perfect opportunity, really.” 

There’s a silence at the table again. Jeffrey clears his throat. “How’s work, Sheriff?” 

“It’s… busy,” Stiles’ dad says quietly. “We’re working hard.” 

Stiles wants to tell his Dad everything. He wants to tell him who attempted to murder the Hales by burning their house down. Because he can’t, because he promised, and a promise is a promise; not to be broken, Stiles knows. His mother told him that the day she died. 

Stiles remembers it often. Every time he makes a promise to anyone, he remembers his mother whispering in his ear, “Keep a secret?” 

_Stiles nodded. “You have to promise,” she told him. “And a promise is a promise. It can’t ever be broke, Stiles. Not for the ones you love.”_

_Stiles nodded again, wide eyed in anticipation, gripping his mother’s frail hand in his. “I see happiness,” his mother smiled. “Somewhere great. Stiles. I’m not going to make it, okay? But don’t tell your dad, because he thinks I can still fight through this. That’s the secret.” Stiles hadn’t said anything, just gripped her hand tighter._

_“And Stiles – take care of each other. That’s what you have to promise me.”_

A promise is a promise, Stiles knows. And he cannot break it for anything. No matter how guilty he feels. So he tamps the urge to tell his secret down, locks it away, and focuses instead on complimenting Isabelle for the backsplash pattern behind the counter, for the choice of granite countertops, and so on. 

==

Derek’s been gone for a year. There is Christmas and New Year’s and Stiles and the twin’s birthdays, and Derek misses them all. There’s 52 Friday night dinners, and Stiles’ senior prom, and endless movie marathons. Derek misses them. 

With that comes Stiles purposely getting lost in the woods four times, and ‘his wolf’ never showing up to lead him back, forcing him to use his phone’s GPS and racking up some serious data charges. When he mentions it to Laura, Laura just smiles sadly. She’s still the same Laura, but anytime anything is brought up related to Derek, she locks herself away. “Maybe you were just imagining it,” she says. 

“I don’t believe that,” Stiles says stubbornly. “And neither do you.” Laura just goes back to studying for her final, but Stiles hears her sniffles, so he leans in and wraps his arm around her. 

They have each other, he thinks, and that’s what counts. 

When Stiles graduates, he’s sure Derek will show up, but he doesn’t. Stiles tries to ignore the disappointment building up in his stomach as the auditorium fills, and Derek’s face never appears next to Laura’s, or Isabelle’s, or Jeffrey’s, or even his dad’s. Backstage, Scott is quietly freaking out. Lydia is practicing for her speech, and Stiles is nervously fumbling with his own index cards for his speech, as well. 

“Hey, man, breathe,” Stiles tells Scott, pulling Scott’s inhaler out of his pocket and handing it to him. “It’ll all be good, right? We’re graduating.” 

“And I’m asking Allison to _marry_ me,” he hisses. “That’s huge. What if her dad shoots me. Oh, God. He’s gonna shoot me.” Scott takes another puff of his inhaler. Stiles snorts. 

“If Mr. Argent hasn’t shot you yet, I think you’re okay, Scott,” Stiles says, and pats his shoulder. 

Scott breathes out slowly, and Stiles is called to the stage to give his salutation speech. Stiles likes to think he’s got the perfect mix of humor and intelligence in his speech, being only .03 points behind Lydia Martin for valedictorian; he knows what a speech needs. As he’s talking, he looks out over the crowd, and when his eyes land on Mr. and Mrs. Argent, there’s a blonde woman sitting next to them with a purely wicked smile on her face, and there’s a bolt of anger that flashes through Stiles when he sees her. He knows, even with having never met her, exactly who she is. 

_Kate Argent_ , his mind screams, scanning the crowd for his family, for _Laura,_ who is staring at him with an encouraging smile. Stiles trips over his words a little, but keeps going, and before he knows it, staring straight at Laura and her perfect, encouraging smile gets him through to the end of the speech. He’s practically bouncing in his seat to get the rest of the ceremony over with, though, and when it is, when his name has been called, when the diploma is in his hands, when graduation caps are thrown in the air, Stiles pushes through the crowd of people towards his dad and the Hales, throwing his arms around Laura.

“I’m glad the important people get hugs first,” the Sheriff muses, sharing a look with Isabelle and Jeffrey. 

“Sorry, I just –” Stiles swallows. “I saw an ex-boyfriend of Laura’s!” he shouts. “Just wanted to make sure she hadn’t seen him.” Laura pulls a face. The Sheriff shakes his head and then pulls Stiles away from Laura, hugging him tightly. 

“Really proud of you, son,” he murmurs in Stiles’ ear, and Stiles swallows, breathing out. Here, in his dad’s arms, with Laura and Isabelle and Jeffrey surrounding him, Stiles feels safe from the roaming, absolutely psychotic eyes of Kate Argent. Here, Stiles feels like Kate Argent can’t try and kill the Hales – his family. The only person missing is _Derek,_ and the Derek shaped hole in his heart burns a little.

Scott comes over and pulls him away for a few pictures. By the time Mrs. McCall and the Sheriff have taken a fair amount of pictures of the two of them, of Stiles, Scott, and Laura, and of Scott and Stiles and their respective parents, Allison has made her way over and joined the photo op, taking pictures with Scott, with Stiles, and with Scott and Stiles. Mr. Argent snaps the camera obediently while Mrs. Argent stands glaring at everyone like they’ve done something to personally offend her. Stiles keeps his gaze in the corner, right where Kate Argent stands, watching everyone with that same terrible smile on her face. 

Allison finally introduces them. “Stiles, this is my aunt Kate. She’s in town for my graduation ceremony.” Her tone hardens, like she isn’t really happy about her being here. “But she’s leaving tomorrow.” 

“Allison,” Mr. Argent chides, and Kate grins something horrible. 

Allison doesn’t say anything, just continues to make introductions. “Mr. and Mrs. Hale, these are my parents, Chris and Victoria.” Isabelle and Jeffrey shift on their feet uneasily, and Laura makes a noise close to a growl behind Stiles, and Stiles turns around and gives her the side eye. _What?_ he mouths, but she doesn’t say anything, just shakes her head. 

By the time Stiles tunes back in, Allison is finished making introductions. 

“It was really nice to meet you,” Isabelle says, glancing down at her wristwatch, “but we do have to be going. Stiles’ big graduation dinner is in the oven and I don’t want it getting too dry.” She pats Stiles on the cheek and then kisses his forehead, the same motherly gesture she’s done since Stiles first started hanging out with Laura. “See you at the house, darling,” she says, and gestures for Jeffrey and Laura to follow her out. Stiles has always been amused that Isabelle is clearly the leader of the family, but he’s also admired, too. It takes a lot for a woman to keep so much control over what Stiles know had to have been a pair of extremely troublemaking twins. 

“Bye,” he mumbles. Laura throws her arms around him one more time.

“Go for a walk when you get to the house?” she asks him. 

Stiles nods. 

They stand around talking to the Argents and Scott and Mrs. McCall for a little while longer, but Stiles feels uneasy, so he claps his dad on the back. “Isabelle and Jeff are waiting,” he says, smiling. “We can’t keep them waiting too much longer, Isabelle will worry about the food. And Uncle Peter’s supposed to be in town.”

“You’re just hoping for a nice big present from him,” the Sheriff rolls his eyes. “You’re hoping he gives you a car just like Laura and Derek’s.” Said car is the car Stiles drooled over for four weeks when Laura and Derek received it from their Uncle Peter with strict instructions to share, and a little note added at the bottom that said, _make sure you teach Stiles how to drive in it._

Laura and Derek always keep their word, therefore the Camaro is exactly the car Stiles learned to drive in. He drove once with Laura and she shrieked so loudly the entire time that Stiles finally had to pull over. Then Derek took him out on the back roads of Beacon Hills and taught him, and he was so calm and patient, Stiles was relieved. He never once yelled, he always kept his temper in check (which, Stiles knows, he _never_ does), and he patiently taught Stiles the rules of the roads, all the while managing to avoid letting Stiles wreck the Camaro. 

Stiles was severely disappointed for about a week when he received the keys to the Jeep from his dad and it never went past 75mph. The Camaro went _way_ faster. 

“I’m excited to see Uncle Peter, period,” Stiles tells his dad. “He’s been traveling for a really long time. He was upset when he couldn’t get back after the fire.” He keeps an eye on Kate Argent and notices how her grin sharpens just a little. 

“Alright, alright,” the Sheriff says. “Let’s go.” He shakes Mr. and Mrs. Argent’s hands and Stiles hugs Scott and Allison both before they head out. 

“That Kate Argent is strange,” the Sheriff says, and Stiles swallows. 

“Yeah,” he says, “she was odd.”

==

The smell of Isabelle’s dinner fills the house and Stiles’ mouth waters when he throws the front door open and steps into the house. Stiles is lucky Isabelle has been here since his mother died, because without her, he and his father probably would have died of starvation. Stiles’ knows how to make food, but none of it compares to Isabelle Hale’s recipes, and she was the first person who encouraged Stiles to make his dad eat healthier when he came back from the doctor with high cholesterol levels. She Googled recipes and tried them on Jeffrey, Stiles, and Derek first, before she finally gave them to Stiles, and she _always_ sends Stiles home with leftovers on Friday nights. 

“The Argents give me the creeps,” Stiles tells Laura as they walk through the woods. She had barely let Stiles get through the door before pulling him back out, and leading him through the trees. 

“Mm,” Laura says distractedly. They reach somewhere that apparently Laura thinks is good enough to stop, and she whirls around to face Stiles. “Stiles, when did your wolf start disappearing?” she asks him, a brow arched.

“What?” Stiles asks blankly. Laura arches a brow. She sits down on the forest floor and reaches over, starting to pick some of the spring flowers that have sprung their way up from the ground. She waits silently while Stiles tries to process what she’s saying. “My… wolf. He… he left after the fire. Well – no. He left… when Derek left,” he says suddenly, narrowing his gaze at Laura. “He left when Derek left,” he says more certainly. Laura hums to herself, picking more flowers and putting them together. 

“Why do you think that is?” she asks him finally, when Stiles says nothing. Stiles looks around at the trees surrounding him. 

“Because…” he says slowly, “Oh, my God, Laura you’re not serious.” 

Laura looks up and her eyes are the exact same shade of electric blue as the wolf Stiles has seen so many times before. His lips part in surprise. “Oh,” he breathes. “D-Derek? Derek too?” Laura nods, her eyes returning to the same green color her brother’s eyes are. “Derek?” his breath hitches on a sob, “Derek is my wolf?” 

Laura picks at some more wildflowers, and stares at the ground. Stiles has never seen her so quiet and solemn, not even after Derek first left. Then, she was angry. Now, she’s just sad. “Mom wanted me to wait until graduation,” Laura shrugs. “To tell you, you know? Because she felt like… like if you knew while you were in high school, you might make irrational decisions. But then you chose to go to BHCC anyways, and Derek was gone and you were noticing that your wolf was gone too.”

“But he was never mine,” Stiles whispers.

Laura’s head snaps up and she narrows her eyes. “That’s not true, Stiles. For whatever mistakes Derek has made, he’s always been yours. You’ve always been his.”

Stiles’ throat is dry as he listens to Laura talk, his heart pounding, and his nails digging into his palms. 

“We should get back,” Laura says finally, standing up with her bundle of wildflowers, smoothing out her dress, and straightening her jean jacket. Stiles wants to say _that’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me?_ but he doesn’t, because he knows it was hard enough for Laura to tell him this much. He imagines she always planned on telling Stiles with Derek there next to her. 

And he knows how Laura feels lost without her twin brother there next to her, because Stiles kind of feels the same way. Something is missing. 

So instead of asking for more information like he normally does, Stiles reaches out and grasps Laura’s hand. Laura leans her head on his shoulder and they make their way back to the house together. 

When they get to the house, Peter is there, waiting on the steps. “Two of my favorite children,” he says, a smile on his face.

“Not a child,” Stiles mumbles, but his face is smashed into Peter’s shoulder as Peter hugs him and Laura tightly. 

“Ah, just because you’re a graduated man of eighteen doesn’t mean you know the ways of the world,” Peter says, flicking his ear. “But it does mean I got you a present.” He holds out a set of keys. Stiles chokes a little. 

“Uncle Peter,” he says dryly. 

“There’s a condition, though,” Peter says, holding the keys just out of Stiles’ reach. Stiles keeps jumping at them anyway, and behind him, Laura smothers her laughter behind her hand. 

“Condition, yeah, yeah,” Stiles nods, taking another jump. Peter pulls them back even further and holds them over Stiles’ head, with a smile plastered on his face. “Come on,” Stiles whines, “I graduated for those keys! I worked hard!” 

“Stiles,” Peter says. “You know you’re a part of this family. This _pack._ ” He looks at Laura, and Laura nods.

“Pack,” Stiles repeats, his jumping coming to a halt. He looks between Peter and Laura, and they both nod solemnly. “Like… like a wolf pack?” 

“ _Exactly_ like a wolf pack,” Peter tells him. 

“And I’m a part of it? I’m not a wolf! Wait – am I?” Stiles demands, and it comes out high pitched. Laura laughs again. 

“No, silly,” she says, brushing a hand through his hair. 

“You’re a part of this pack because of Laura and Derek,” Peter tells him. Stiles flinches at Derek’s name. “Surprisingly, more because of Derek than Laura,” he continues casually, leaning against the porch post. Stiles throws another glance back at Laura. She shrugs. 

“What are you saying, Uncle Peter?” Stiles demands. 

“I put a pause on my work and travel to go see Derek when I heard he went to New York.” At this, Peter’s brow wrinkles and there’s a deep frown on his face; genuine concern for his nephew. Stiles swallows. “He… wasn’t well,” Peter says softly. “There’s a lot of rage inside him – for himself, I believe. But he’s too busy directing it towards others to sit down and deal with it. He’s living in a dump, doing handiwork for his older neighbors to scrape by on rent.” 

Peter shudders at this; all the Hales are used to living a life of luxury, and while they’re not the snobby type of rich like some of the people around Beacon Hills, they’re certainly comfortable, and Stiles can’t really imagine Derek just living in a shack somewhere. “I tried to convince him to come back home. When that didn’t work, I tried to get him to talk to me about what sent him fleeing Beacon Hills.”

“And?” Stiles asks anxiously. 

“He threw a mirror at me,” Peter says flatly. 

“Oh, boy,” Laura mutters. 

“Yes well,” Peter waves a hand. “Needless to say he didn’t exactly _win_ that battle. When it was finished he demanded that I leave.”

“Where are you going with this, Peter?” Stiles asks, swallowing dryly. 

“If I give you these,” Peter jingles the keys, “you have to go to New York and talk to Derek.” 

Stiles’ jaw drops. “Laura, too,” Peter adds. Stiles whirls around to face Laura. 

“You knew,” he accuses, and Laura shrugs. 

“I need him back, Stiles,” Laura swallows, “I need Derek here. With me. Or I at least need to know _why_ he left, and what’s going on inside his stupid head.” 

Stiles only hesitates for maybe ten seconds before he reaches up and snatches the keys out of Peter’s hands. “I wanted silver,” he says. 

“Don’t worry,” Peter rolls his eyes, reaching out and flicking Stiles’ ear once. “I got you a Camaro just like you wished for. You’d think _you_ were my favorite nephew.” Stiles beams and looks to the silver Camaro parked right next to Laura and Derek’s own black Camaro. 

“You _know_ I am. Now let’s go inside, Dad’s probably already eaten three rolls.” 

“Spoiled brat,” Peter mutters, and Laura laughs, punching Stiles in the shoulder as she passes him. 

==

“Stiles I’m not saying that it’s a bad idea it’s just –” The Sheriff cuts off and pinches the bridge of his nose as Stiles throws the last of the things he needs into his gym bag. 

“I have to tell you something,” Stiles says quickly, before his Dad can go on anymore about how going to bring Derek back home might not go the way Stiles and Laura want it to. 

The Sheriff suddenly looks concerned but then gets a resigned look on his face. “I knew this day was coming,” he says, and scrubs at his face. “I knew you were going to tell me you were in love with him, but I still am not prepared for it.” 

“What?” Stiles frowns. “I’m not in love with him – well, yeah, I probably am.” He nods, allowing it. “But that wasn’t what I was going to tell you.” 

The Sheriff frowns again. “Before – when – Derek dated Kate Argent!” Stiles blurts out and then covers his mouth. Behind his hand he says, “Oh, shit.” His dad arches a brow at him. 

“Why is this a problem?” he asks him. 

“Kate was – is – older than him, you know? So he didn’t tell his parents he was dating Kate because apparently there’s some grudge the Argents hold against the Hales or the Hales hold against the Argents – I don’t know the whole story,” Stiles waves a hand. “I just know that he said Laura wouldn’t like her so he asked me not to tell her. But he didn’t tell me it was Kate Argent. I figured that out when Scott was talking about Allison’s crazy aunt, who was dating some younger guy. So I called Laura to explain things, or maybe talk to Derek. But,” Stiles cuts off and swallows, staring very seriously at his dad, “when I called Laura she was freaking out because the house was on fire. And then Derek took off for New York.”

“Stiles,” the Sheriff sighs. “Are you trying to say what I _think_ you’re trying to say?” 

“She did it, Dad!” Stiles says, rushing over to his desk, opening the drawer, and pulling out a file folder filled with different things. “The insurance guy said it was accidental, right? Well then just four months ago he was fired for fraud! What’s to say Kate didn’t pay him off? Then two months ago two guys were found dead, shot with an _arrow._ They’d been dead for a few months though – possibly a year. They both had records for arson. And do you know what Kate is? She’s an archer. She’s really good with a bow – Scott told me about how Allison learned from her.” 

“Son – have you been doing this on your own?” the Sheriff looks concerned now and reaches out to take the folder from Stiles. Stiles’ hands are shaking, Stiles realizes. 

“I – I made a promise,” Stiles says. “And a promise is a promise – it’s not meant to be broken. And Derek – he _asked_ me, he made me promise not to tell anyone about the girl he was seeing. And I saw the look on his face that night. The night of the fire? He _knew_ that Kate had just used him to get to his family, and make sure he’d feel guilty forever.” 

The Sheriff looks down at the folder for a moment, lips pursed, before he reaches out and wraps his arms around Stiles in a tight hug. “When you come back,” the Sheriff says, “I’ll have this taken care of. Just bring Derek back home, Stiles. You do what you have to do.” He claps Stiles on the back once before he releases him. “You go on,” he says, clearing his throat. “You were supposed to pick up Laura five minutes ago.” 

As if on cue, Stiles’ phone rings, signaling a text from Laura. It says, _didn’t change your mind, did you? Uncle P is already threatening to take the Camaro back._

Stiles texts back, _be there in ten, tell him to keep his paws off my car._ He looks up at his dad. “Thanks,” he whispers.

“Stiles,” his dad says, when Stiles has shoved his bag into the backseat of the silver Camaro, and is about to get in the car. Stiles looks up. His dad is standing on the porch, one hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he looks out at Stiles. “You did the right thing, son,” he says. Stiles smiles at him and gets in the car. His dad waves until Stiles turns down the street, and Stiles watches him from the mirror. 

Laura is waiting on the porch when Stiles gets there. She’s got bright red Ray-Bans on, purple jeans, and a black shirt. Laura has never really cared much about color coordination, and likes to prove it when she’s not collecting more dresses. She throws her bag in beside Stiles’, and then says, “Come on, Mom and Dad and Uncle Peter wanna tell you goodbye.” 

“They’re going to _hug,_ me,” Stiles says in mock fear. Laura rolls her eyes.

Inside, Isabelle, Jeffrey, and Peter are standing in the living room, arms crossed, smiling uncertainly at Stiles. “I hate to put this on you,” Isabelle says, crossing the room, hugging Stiles, and patting his cheeks. “It’s too much to be expected from a boy.” Stiles rests her chin on her shoulder and closes his eyes. 

Isabelle’s scent is different from his mother’s, but it still offers almost the same comfort. Stiles’ mom always wore Chanel no. 5. Isabelle wears something else, fruity and light, that seems to stay on all her clothes no matter what. “I want to,” Stiles says, voice muffled. For as long as Stiles has known her, Isabelle has never cried. Stiles thinks he may have seen a few tears slip at his mom’s funeral, but she’s never really _cried._ Now, she lets out a sob before she releases Stiles. 

“I know you do,” she says. “And you’re the only one that could make him come back.” 

She hugs him one more time, before Jeffrey steps forward and hugs him. He says, “Thank you, son.” Stiles nods. 

Peter hugs him tighter than Isabelle and Jeffrey combined before he says, “Did I mention there’s another catch when it comes to the car? Bring my nephew back in one piece or I’ll take it back.” But his tone is light and teasing and he flicks Stiles’ ear, the same gesture of affection he’s always had for him. 

Stiles rolls his eyes. “You’ll pry that car out of my cold dead hands. Or maybe Laura’s – she has all that wolfy strength, you know.” Behind him, Laura snorts. 

“Just go.” Peter shakes his head. 

==

A road trip with Laura has always been a plan for Stiles. Going somewhere they hadn’t really decided on until they’d reached that place, sleeping in the car, listening to a bunch of Indie music and singing at the top of his lungs to his Jack’s Mannequin playlist on his iPod; it’s always been the plan. And even though they’re headed somewhere with a purpose, Stiles and Laura still take advantage of the fact that they’re on the highway, together, travelling. 

Laura turns the music down after Holiday From Real cuts off, rolls down the window, and sticks her bare feet out of it. “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” Stiles tells her. She rolls her head to face him, sunglasses crooked on her face as she looks at him. 

“Has that ever stopped me before, huh?” she asks him, and wiggles her red-painted toes. 

Stiles shakes his head and keeps driving. 

They roll into New York City in the early morning, three days of driving put behind them. “I need sleep first,” Laura announces. “Find a hotel.” 

“Hotels are expensive.” 

“Good thing mom gave me extra leeway on this then,” Laura says, waggling the AmEx card. She directs him to a somewhat fancy looking hotel. Stiles has a valet guy park the car, and watches him like a hawk as he pulls away in the Camaro. Laura tugs him inside and asks for a room with two beds. They lug their bags up to the room, where Laura collapses on the bed and passes out within five minutes. 

Stiles lies awake for another hour before he falls asleep and dreams of seeing Derek for the first time in such a long time. 

When he wakes up, it’s to Laura shaking him. “Come on, we gotta get going,” she says. Stiles groans. Laura jumps on him and bounces up and down on his stomach, shouting, “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

“I hate you,” Stiles pulls the pillow over his face and blocks the light from his eyes. 

“Stiles,” she whines, poking at his cheek. “Come on.” 

Stiles groans again and sits up, dislodging Laura. “Alright, alright. Let’s go. You have the address Uncle Peter gave you, right?” 

Laura nods. 

Stiles gets dressed and tries to look a little nicer, wearing a button down and making sure his hair doesn’t stand in every direction on his head, only stands up a bit in the front. Laura changes into her favorite flower print dress, a jean jacket, and cowgirl boots, and runs a brush through her hair. She slips on a pair of black sunglasses and throws the red ones at Stiles. “It’s sunny out,” she says. “Wear those.” 

“You just want to see how stupid I look in them,” Stiles mutters. Laura grins with too many teeth, some of which look sharp. 

They make their way to the valet station where someone gets their car for them. Laura plugs the address into the GPS and Stiles navigates the busy streets of New York towards a lower end, where the buildings look like they’re about to fall down, and the streets aren’t as smoothly paved. They reach a building that Stiles is pretty sure the roof has caved in on, but the GPS is claiming is the right destination. Stiles mouth is open as he stares at it. 

“Really,” he says flatly. 

“Oh, boy,” Laura says, eyeing him. “You’re going to lose it on him, aren’t you?” 

“This isn’t even a shack,” Stiles shrieks at her. “It’s – it’s – it’s a _condemned building._ ” Laura looks at the building. 

“It’s not the best,” she admits. 

Stiles turns the car off and swings the door open, getting out with what his Dad would have called _attitude_. He stomps up to the (broken) door, and doesn’t even bother knocking on it. There’s no lock. It swings up, and Laura runs up the steps after him. “Stiles I don’t think –” 

It’s dark inside, even though it’s sunny and bright outside. There are blankets covering all the broken windows, and a mattress sitting in one corner. Melted candles sit in different corners of the room, a sign that there’s no electricity. There’s one suitcase and one box sitting close to the mattress. 

Derek isn’t there. 

Stiles turns around when he hears Laura’s sharp inhale. “Jesus,” she whispers. 

“He’s not here, is he?” he asks her, and Laura sniffs once, before she shakes her head. Stiles fishes the keys to the Camaro out of his pocket and hands them to Laura. “You should go. I’m gonna wait here for him. Maybe I’ll… redecorate,” Stiles grimaces. “You go check out the city. I have my phone; I’ll call when I get to talk to him and need you to pick me up.”

Laura looks hesitant. “I don’t know if – what if he…” 

“He won’t hurt me,” Stiles says firmly. 

Laura sighs. “You’re right. Just be careful anyway, Stiles.” 

Stiles nods and makes his way over to the mattress. He sits down, crosses his legs and sets in for the long haul. Two hours in, he falls asleep surrounded by the scent of Derek. 

==

He wakes up to a growl. When he opens his eyes, bright, vivid blue ones are staring back at him. “Oh, shit,” Stiles squeaks, rolling off the mattress and landing on the floor, hard. He realizes that the blue eyes aren’t the only thing Derek has right now. He’s also in full wolf form, still growling. “Good wolfy,” Stiles says, trying to calm himself down. Since Laura has told him about the entire _existence_ of werewolves, she’s also explained how they can hear so much more, can tell when a person is lying by the skip of their heart or the way it will speed up. Stiles doesn’t intend to show any fear to Derek. 

“You know,” he says conversationally, sitting on the floor Indian style, staring at Derek’s shape in the dark. “I’ve learnt a lot recently. A few things took a while to figure out. Like how I was upset because my wolf wasn’t showing up anymore. But then Laura explained it to me. And it all made so much sense.” 

Derek’s growls have turned to low rumbles in the back of his throat. Stiles eyes him, hesitant, as he slowly reaches a hand out and places it between Derek’s ears. 

And Derek nearly _purrs._

Stiles strokes his head and keeps talking. “And I kept your secret for a long time, even though it was tearing me apart inside. Even though you weren’t _there,_ Derek. You missed – you missed so much. I had dreams about you coming back for my eighteenth birthday. Or maybe for graduation. I thought – since I was there for yours, you’d want to see me. But it doesn’t matter,” Stiles shakes his head. “I knew why you couldn’t come back. But Jesus, Derek. I didn’t think you were fucking living in some hole-in-the-ground place. There’s no _electricity._ ” 

Derek growls a little. “Do not,” Stiles snaps, and surprisingly enough, Derek stops. 

Stiles continues, still stroking Derek’s furry head. He’s surprised when Derek drops to the floor, curls up next to Stiles, and rests his head on Stiles’ thigh. “I broke it, though,” he says quietly, and feels Derek tense up beneath him. “Not to Laura, or Isabelle and Jeffrey. Just – just to my Dad. I had to tell him that I’d found enough to put Kate _away,_ Derek. Did you know she killed her two accomplices right after she tried to burn the house down? Laura told me the Argents were hunters. But most hunters follow a code. I think Kate’s just crazy.

“And Derek? She would have found a way to do it, no matter what. She’s twisted and crazy and… and she has no sense of right or wrong.” Stiles doesn’t realize he has tears in his eyes until they drip down his cheeks and onto Derek’s fur. “But Derek. I _miss_ you. I miss getting lost in the woods and you finding me and giving me this look like I’m such an idiot. I miss mac n’ cheese nights with you. I miss you laughing at Laura and me when we cry at stupid shows like Sherlock or Doctor Who or – even that one time we had a marathon of Friday Night Lights. And I _know_ you cried at that, too. I miss talking to you about serious things when I wasn’t sure how to talk to Laura about them.” 

Derek stares up at him, blue eyes blinding. Stiles keeps talking. “Dad is gathering evidence against Kate now. And I just – I want to bring you back home, Derek. Stop fucking beating yourself up about this. Just – just – I know you love me, okay? I know you feel the same thing as me. I know you took care of me because – because you _love_ me. And Derek, I love you, too. But I can’t just – I can’t just stand around waiting for you.” Stiles closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, Derek is lying next to him in human form, head still resting on Stiles’ thigh. He’s naked, and Stiles’ heart leaps a bit at that, but it’s not the first thing on his mind. “Hey there,” Stiles says, voice hoarse. 

“Stiles.” Derek’s voice is rough, like he hasn’t talked much lately. Like maybe he spends a lot of time prowling around the building falling down around his ears in wolf form. 

“That’s me,” Stiles says weakly. Derek rubs his nose into Stiles’ jeans, inhaling deeply. Stiles pauses for a moment, because his hand is still in Derek’s hair, but he resumes stroking after deciding that Derek will pull away if he doesn’t want it. Instead of pulling away though, Derek goes kind of boneless. 

There’s a long moment of silence.

Then Derek says, “You didn’t break your promise,” and kisses Stiles’ hip on the spot where his shirt has ridden up and the skin peeks through. 

Stiles bursts into tears and Derek sits up and buries his face in Stiles’ neck, wrapping his arms around him. 

==

“So you’ll come home?” Stiles asks him. 

They’re lying on Derek’s mattress. Derek is still naked, and Stiles is still clothed, and they’ve done nothing but curl up next to each other. Derek still has his face buried in Stiles’ neck, and occasionally Stiles will feel the wet press of a tongue licking against the skin, and he’ll shudder, but it’s a good feeling. He strokes along Derek’s back, waiting for his answer. 

Derek muffles something into his skin that Stiles can’t figure out. “What?” Stiles asks.

“ _You’re_ home,” Derek tells him, pulling away.

Stiles swallows dryly. 

“Then why have I been alone for so long?” he asks. Derek buries his face again, and sighs, breath warm against Stiles’ skin. 

“Because I was afraid to come back,” Derek admits finally, and grips Stiles’ hips tightly, like he’s afraid of Stiles’ answer. 

Stiles pulls Derek’s chin up so that he’s looking right into Stiles’ eyes in the candlelight. “You _never_ have to be afraid to come back to me. I promise. And promises,” Stiles swallows, “promises aren’t meant to be broken.” 

Derek looks at him for another moment before he leans in and kisses him. It’s light, at first, just a press of his lips against Stiles’. And then Derek is frantic, clutching at Stiles’ hips, sliding his tongue along his lips, pressing inside his mouth and running his tongue along every space he can. Stiles moans and pushes back against him, tangles his fingers through Derek’s hair and kisses him back just as hard. “Stiles,” Derek pulls away, gasping, just as Stiles has gone to tear his own shirt off. Derek shakes his head. “I don’t want to do this here.” 

“What?” Stiles demands, breathless. “Because I’m pretty sure this,” Stiles gestures at both their dicks, noticeably larger, “means that you do.” 

Derek brushes a finger across Stiles’ lips, a smile on his face. “That,” he says, rolling his eyes, “means that I want you. But not here.”

“Where?” Stiles asks. 

“Where we _belong,_ ” Derek says, and then kisses him again, so sweet and gentle, that Stiles can’t help but agree with him. 

“Yeah,” he mumbles against Derek’s lips. “Yeah.” 

Laura shows up twenty minutes later, and thankfully Derek has a pair of sweatpants on by then. She crosses the floor, candles flickering in her wake, and steps up to Derek. And she punches him, a perfect right hook. Stiles hisses in sympathy. Derek holds his face, then pulls his fingers away, looking at the blood. 

“I hope that hurt,” Laura hisses, before throwing her arms around Derek’s waist and crying into his shoulder. 

“It did,” Derek reassures her, even though the split lip is already healing and there’s no bruise at all. 

==

The get to Beacon Hills four days later. They took a little more time on the way back, mostly because they had to keep stopping so Derek and Laura could switch seats from back to passenger side a couple times, after they bickered enough and Stiles would pull over and demand it. Derek bitched about the music on the radio, and Stiles made him buy all the candy he wanted for him, no protests allowed. They held hands when Derek sat next to him, and smiled at each other in the rearview mirror when Derek sat in the back.

Laura bitched about their looks towards each other and cranked Jack’s Mannequin up louder every time Derek complained about listening to Swim for the thousandth time. “I’m going to be on probation with her forever,” he mutters as they cross the California state line and Laura changes it to Miss California. 

“You better believe it, buddy,” Laura snaps. 

The get to Beacon Hills an hour later, and immediately go to the Hale house. Stiles had had Laura text his father, so the Sheriff is standing waiting on the porch with Derek and Laura’s parents, and Uncle Peter. Derek is the last to climb out of the car, and Isabelle throws herself at him, hugging him tightly, before she pulls away and slaps him. 

“If you _ever_ ,” she hisses, and then wipes at her tears. “You should have just told us!” She throws her arms around Derek again and cries into his shoulder, just like Laura had. Derek gives Stiles a smile over the top of her head, and Stiles accepts the Welcome Home hugs from his dad, Jeffrey, and Peter. 

“You did it,” Peter says, and hands Stiles another set of keys. 

“I don’t need two cars.” Stiles frowns. “Three, if you count the Jeep.” 

“It’s not a car,” Peter says, and smiles towards Derek. “It’s for you and Derek. It’s an apartment. I am sure Laura will not want to… hear things. And,” Peter shrugs. “That’s what you do for your favorite nephews.” 

Stiles grins at him. 

Later, when it’s just Derek and Stiles, after a long night of the Sheriff explaining that Kate is in custody, but they’ll need Derek’s statement, and Isabelle cooking enough food to feed an army, Derek grips Stiles’ hand tight. “I need you to know something,” he says nervously. Stiles taps a finger at the corner of Derek’s eye, where there are worry lines crinkling them, and smiles. 

“Anything,” Stiles says. 

“This isn’t just – this isn’t just something… it’s not _casual_ ,” Derek says. Stiles arches a brow.

“Did you think I thought it was?” Derek shrugs. “You’re stuck with me forever, Derek. You’ll listen to me talk, and you’ll listen to me yell, and you’ll be there for me to bitch about things to. You’re mine, Derek, and I’m yours. You’re my _wolf._ You love me and you protect me, and I do the same for you.” 

Derek swallows. “Promise?” 

“Promise,” Stiles says, and kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> if you're interested, [this](http://dylanobilinski.tumblr.com/) is my tumblr, dylanobilinski. 
> 
> This has been a work in the making for a good three months now, I think? My wonderful beta MirajaneScarlet encouraged me the entire way.
> 
> She helped me decide just how I wanted Laura Hale to be written, encouraged me to write Laura the way we both decided Laura would have been in canon, and made sure the story didn't get too terribly off track.


End file.
